


Just You Wait, 'Enry 'Iggins

by magdarko



Category: English Vinglish (2012)
Genre: Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:03:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magdarko/pseuds/magdarko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is Eva's war, and this is why she fights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just You Wait, 'Enry 'Iggins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gramarye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gramarye/gifts).



> This owes its existence entirely to [Gramarye](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gramarye)'s [kick-arse prompts](http://gramarye1971.dreamwidth.org/458303.html). I hope it's kind of what you meant, and I really hope you like it!

Eva slides her key into the door of the gracious brownstone and turns it slowly, trying not to let the lock catch too loudly. She cracks the door open as little as possible and slides in, letting it fall softly closed behind her and letting out a relieved sigh when it snicks shut without too much noise. She doesn’t particularly want to announce her return: it’s past six and it’s quite likely that Miss Remington is home from work, and any day that Eva can avoid a confrontation with her is a good day.

She pads down the hall as silently as possible, frowning in annoyance because someone has left Ethan’s building blocks strewn across the carpet. What was he doing playing with them in the hall in any case? She frowns harder and wonders if there’s any way to get home from class earlier than she’s been doing lately. She could, of course, not dawdle at the door chatting with Yu Son and the others, but somehow she doesn’t quite want to give that up. Still, Ethan is her responsibility, and if Clarissa is going to let Ethan leave his toys all over the place for Eva to clear up…

The door to the living room opens to a tall, thin blonde and she braces for Miss Remington’s sneering face, but it’s Mrs Trent who steps into the hall, and Eva relaxes with a smile. “Ah, good evening, Mrs Trent!” she says in English, pushing out each word carefully like David Sir always tells them.

Mrs Trent’s lovely, serene face breaks out into a smile, and Eva marvels again that two sisters could look so alike and be so entirely different underneath. “Eva, good evening! How was class?”

Eva pauses to put the sentence together in her head before saying slowly, “Class was very good. We learn prepositions,” taking care to say the word the English way. It’s worth the careful effort for the pleased look on Mrs Trent’s face. 

“How nice, it must be so interesting.” Mrs Trent comes into the hall and her smile turns to a frown as she notices the blocks thrown about on the carpet. She makes a little ‘tsk’ sound and says, “I thought I told Clarissa to clear those up…” 

Eva shakes her head repressively. “I tell Ethan he take them up,” she says, feeling a little glow of satisfaction at using ‘up’ in a sentence. Mrs Trent raises her eyebrows, the smile replaced by a coolly enquiring look. Eva belatedly realises how she might have sounded, like she’s trying to make Ethan do her work, and rushes to explain, “If he’s going to play with them outside his playroom he should learn to clear them up—” 

Mrs Trent holds up a hand to stop her, laughing. “English, please, Eva dear.” 

Eva pulls up short, startled—she hadn’t realised she’d lapsed into Spanish—before laughing too, and then saying slowly in English, “He play, he clean. He learn to be good.” 

Mrs Trent looks thoughtful and says, “I guess you’re right,” and then something so quickly that Eva can’t understand it at all. Before she can ask for an explanation, though, there’s a thunderous noise, like five or six horses all trying to run down the stairs at once. Eva and Mrs Trent both know what that means, and turn to the stairs with broad smiles to watch a small messy haired-boy gallop down the broad staircase. 

“Careful, darling, you’ll hurt yourself!” Mrs Trent calls, not that it makes any difference to Ethan, who flings himself down the last few steps and straight at Eva, babbling in Spanish. “Eva, Eva, we saw a dog, we saw a big dog, and he was brown and he had a big tail and he shook hands with me and he likes to play with boys and he was so big but I wasn’t scared because I’m brave and—” 

Mrs Trent watches him, smiling, a sort of wistful hunger in her face. “What’s he saying?” she asks Eva. Eva feels, again, that guilty pang, and tells her in short, choppy sentences about the dog and the shaking hands. She doesn’t think she’s got the right words—Mrs Trent looks a little bemused—but it’s good enough that she and Eva are both laughing when the front door opens. 

“Hello, Caroline, dear,” says the hated voice from behind Eva, and she stiffens, even as Ethan breaks off from the story of the big dog to say an enthusiastic hello to his Aunt Cassie, Eva’s native language flowing smoothly from his tongue. 

Eva turns around to face Miss Cassie Remington, pasting on a polite smile. Miss Remington is closing the door behind her, her long oval face, so like Mrs Trent’s, already arranged in that sneer that makes Eva long to smack her and make her behave, like she would a small child. You’d never know that Miss Remington is the older sister. 

Miss Remington transfers her dissatisfied look from her sister to Ethan. “Really, Caroline, you have to do something about it. He’ll be talking like a Mexican all his life if you’re not careful.” 

Eva, furious, opens her mouth to tell her off, but Mrs Trent gets there first. “Eva is already doing something about it, Cassie.” She gives her sister a thin smile and then says lightly, “And she’s got it in hand, don’t you, Eva?” 

Eva, thus called to battle, turns in her most impressive manner to Ethan and says, in English, “Ethan, you speak English to Mama.” 

Miss Remington gives a disdainful sniff as she shrugs out of her coat. “Ridiculous.” She says something else to Mrs Trent, too quick for Eva to catch, which makes Mrs Trent go cold and disapproving. 

“Thank you, Cassie, but I think I can manage,” she says, and whirls around to go back to the living room. “Eva, please make sure those toys are cleared away. I have guests coming in half an hour. And give Ethan his bath. I don’t want him smelling of dog when the Lubecks get here.” She marches into the living room without a backward glance. Eva doesn’t think less of her for it: Miss Remington is enough to try anyone’s patience. 

That lady remains in the hall, arms crossed and wearing her most unattractive scowl, glaring after Mrs Trent. As living room door closes behind her sister, she transfers the scowl to Eva. “I can’t understand why she puts up with this. She really should get a proper _au pair_ who knows what she’s doing. Ethan,” she says imperiously, “come to Aunt Cassie.” 

“Ethan have his bath,” Eva says firmly. “Mrs Trent tell me to have Ethan his bath.” 

Miss Remington snorts and stomps off into the living room, slamming the door behind her like a spoiled child; Eva knows very well that she thinks it’s below her dignity to engage Eva in conversation. Just because Eva can’t conjugate verbs in her stupid English! _You wait,_ Eva thinks, _one day I’ll turn around and tell you exactly what I think in perfect English, and you won’t be able to pretend I’m too stupid to talk to._

Anyway, she doesn’t care about Miss Remington. It’s Mrs Trent who pays her salary, Mrs Trent whose good opinion matters, Mrs Trent who’s Ethan’s mother. If she were anything like her sister, or like the other mamas that Eva’s friends complain about, who throw their weight around and expect one to work without sleep and to eat meals standing up and have no free time—but Eva’s Mrs Trent is different. She’s like Shashi, in a way, who gets her way not by forcing it but by being gentle and kind and convinced she’s doing right. And for Mrs Trent, Eva would do many things. She will put up with Miss Remington and even fight with this ridiculous English. 

Eva tuns to Ethan. “Ethan,” she says carefully, “bring—” ugh, what’s ‘toy’ in English? Never mind— “bring _sus juguetes_ to your room.” 

Ethan gives her a big-eyed innocent look that doesn’t fool her in the least. “I know you understood me, you naughty boy,” she tells him in Spanish. “Quickly now, before you make Mama unhappy.” 

Ethan heaves a big, put-upon sigh, and Eva bites back a smile. He makes a decent effort with the blocks, managing to corral four of them in his small, chubby hands. Good enough. Eva scoops up the rest. “I help you this time,” she tells him in English. 

Ethan gives her his big toothy grin. “Thank you!” he says, so American that he must have learnt that in the park somewhere. 

Eva beams back at him. “Good boy,” she tells him. There, see, she can pick up little pieces of English too. 

Eva shepherds her little boy up the stairs, running over all the little extra things she’ll have to do if Mrs Trent is having guests. She doesn’t mind, not exactly—she doesn’t mind doing things for Mrs Trent—but she’ll have to stay up late again. Clarissa certainly won’t be able to manage on her own especially if the guests are staying for dinner. And then she’ll have to sit with her English grammar for a while… 

Ethan starts chattering about the dog again—in Spanish—and Eva listens with half an ear, saying _yes?_ and _really?_ and _oh!_ when required. They go up the stairs together, happily jumbling the language they share and the one they don’t, in perfect accord. 

_-fin-_

**Author's Note:**

> I don't speak Spanish; Eva's English is based on common mistakes made by Spanish ESL speakers.


End file.
